“Good Lord, no! That is, he has his seat, of course, but I doubt if he’d recognize Westminster in a photograph. Gayety girls are his lay. We married him young, though, and assured the succession.” “Is he a typical lord?” “What’s that? We have all sorts, like any other class. I might as well ask you if you were a typical American.” “Well, I’m not!” cried Catalina, with lightning in her eyes. “If nature had made me a type I’d have made myself over. It makes me hate nearly everybody, but, at least, I love to be alone, and I can always get that when I want it. I’ve got a big ranch—fifty thousand acres—and after my mother died, two years ago I lived on it alone, never speaking to a soul but my men of business and the servants. That’s my idea of bliss, and the moment I strike the American shore I’m going back.” He looked at her with increasing interest—a girl of silences who loved nature and hated man. But he merely said, with his quick smile: “You are a very grand young person indeed. Somerton—my cousin—has only thirty thousand acres. Of course, he’s beastly poor—has so much to keep up. I suppose a ranch of that size is pure luxury, and blossoms like the rose.” “Much you know about it. I often have all I can do to make both ends meet. Droughts kill off my cattle and sheep and dry up everything that grows. My Mexicans and Indians are an idle, worthless lot, but sentiment prevents me from turning them off—their grandparents worked on the ranch. It makes me independent, of course, but I really am what is called land poor. I’m thinking of dividing a part of it into farms and selling them, and also of selling some property I have on Santa Catalina, which has become fashionable. Then I should be quite rich. Mother could get work out of anybody, but I am not nearly so energetic, and they know it. But I am so happy when I am there, and need so little money for myself that I haven’t thought about it heretofore. Being over here has taught me the value of money, and I want to come back to Europe before long. Then I’ll come alone and stay several years. There is so much to learn, and I find I know next to nothing. Well, let us go. As long as I am with the Moultons I suppose I must consider them, and they probably think I have been kidnapped. Who was that youth you were walking with last night?” “The Marquis Zuñiga. I met him at the club and we strolled out together. I introduced him to Mr. Moulton and he will call this afternoon—is quite bowled over by your golden-haired cousin. I suppose we can drive back together? It would look rather absurd, wouldn’t it, going down in a procession of two?” VI They were to have remained in Barcelona a week, but Mr. Moulton, alarmed at the impassioned devotion of Zuñiga to Lydia, decided to leave on the morning of the fourth day.